


Or Anything So Appalling

by PatternsInThread



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Amnesia Play, Coming Untouched, Consensual Mind Control, Drinking, Explicit Consent, F/M, Femdom, Light Humiliation, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Sub Jaskier | Dandelion, Temporary Amnesia, Vaginal Fingering, dom Yennefer, they're both bi as fuck btw, they're sober during sex though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28285899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatternsInThread/pseuds/PatternsInThread
Summary: The night after the dragon hunt, Yennefer and Jaskier ended up at the same tavern.Yennefer wanted to feel in control. Jaskier wanted to forget.Luckily, those desires weremorethan compatible.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 22
Kudos: 116





	Or Anything So Appalling

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> Non-sex warnings: Drinking/drunkenness during the setup--skip to "And so he did." if you want to avoid that. They're drunk when they decide to have sex/memory tampering, but magically sober up before anything happens, and are still comfortable with their decisions. A couple mentions of post-sex thoughts being compared to being drunk toward the end.
> 
> Sex warnings: The things in the tags, all prominent/throughout. Everything is consensual and discussed before it happens (but still undernegotiated considering the kinks involved). At one point Jaskier tries to goad Yennefer into intensifying the scene, but she stops him and they use their words. Discussion of noncon mind control as dirty talk. Let me know if I missed anything!
> 
> Have some kinky smut to spread the holiday cheer! Or the "2020 IS ALMOST GONE" cheer, if you don't celebrate Christmas ;) With thanks to handwrittenhello for the beta!

“I just—” Jaskier sighed dramatically, dropping his forehead most of the way to the table. “I just wish I could fucking _forget_ about— that fucking witcher and his fuckin’ _bullshit_.”

“Mmm,” Yennefer hummed, before downing the rest of her glass of magically produced red wine. Jaskier had no idea how she’d summoned it—or how she was keeping the barkeep from throwing them out over it—and he wasn’t stupid enough to ask. “That sounds nice.”

“ _Sooo_ nice,” Jaskier said, leaning over to pour her another glass like the gentleman she was. She turned her nose up at him, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Ungrateful, ratfucking bastard.”

Yennefer snorted. It was loud, sudden, and made drops of her drink splash through the air and onto her cheeks. Jaskier was unfairly charmed.

“Yes, exactly,” Yennefer said, voice loose around the edges. “Bastard.”

“ _Bastard!_ ” Jaskier yelled.

“Can’t believe I shared a fucktoy with the rats.”

Then it was Jaskier’s turn to snort, and then to laugh nice and long and like he hadn’t in—

Well. In a few days. But a subjective eternity.

“I wish that’s all he was to me,” Jaskier lamented. Normally he would’ve disapproved of Yennefer making such insinuations—well, that wasn’t actually an insinuation, he supposed—about her relationship with Geralt. Both the sex and the lack of care.

But he and Yennefer had been getting steadily drunker on some old, delightful wine since before the sun had set, and she’d dropped enough hints—and he’d seen enough, before he’d stuck his foot in it up on that mountain—that he had ceded her equal rights to insult Geralt a few…

A few hours ago? Possibly.

What was time, anyway? Bards had no need for time, outside music. No one did.

“Time—” Jaskier burst out. “They should abolish it!”

Yennefer tilted her head sideways. Then more sideways. Then wobbled a bit. “Sounds excessive.”

“Not excessive at all!” Jaskier’s arm narrowly missed knocking his wine onto the tavern’s sticky floor. “Imagine—imagine there was no time! We’d be free! Except in music—but music is also free! So ’s good. Matches.”

“If music is free, bard,” Yennefer drawled, “how exactly do you make a living?”

She looked beautiful saying it, but then, she looked beautiful doing just about everything. Her black hair was the night itself in the torchlight of the tavern, and the flames shimmered on the fabric of her black dress, sparkling like stars.

“You’re beautiful.”

Yennefer’s eyebrows shot up. Dubiously. It was a dubious expression. “Thought you hated me.”

“Ehh,” Jaskier waved his hand. “Ces— cec— cessation of hostilities.”

“Mmm,” Yennefer hummed, nails clinking against the rim of her wine glass. The glasses had also magically been produced out of nowhere. Jaskier was kind of in awe. On-demand wine and goblets. Why wasn’t _he_ a sorceress? “Temporary cessation?”

“Depends,” he said, after what was probably too long a moment.

“On what, whether you remember it in the morning?”

“Yennaaaa, come on, I’m not that drunk…”

Something in the witch’s eyes had sharpened. Her back was just a bit stiffer. “What did you call me?” The question was half-befuddled, half-threatening.

Normally Jaskier would either backtrack or double down, but he was wine-warm and pleasantly fuzzy. “Yenna. Yenna, Yenna, Yenna.”

Yennefer’s gaze grew more than half threatening. “Shut up.”

“But _Yennaaaaaa_ —your name is just so pretty short. Pretty like you.”

With a scoff, Yennefer said, “If this is how you always try to pick up women, no wonder I’ve never seen you get laid.”

Instead of _Hey! I do too get laid,_ what came out of Jaskier’s mouth was, “Would you like to?”

Yennefer threw her head back in a laugh—then paused, pulled it forward, and looked him slowly up and down. “Hmmm.”

“Ugh, don’t do that, you’ll remind me of the bastard—”

“Are you as good as your reputation says?”

Jaskier took a moment to parse that out, the way their words overlapped.

But he got it in time to answer first: “Oh, Yennefer, I am _so much better_ than my reputation says.”

“Hmm,” she hummed again, purple eyes contemplative, before shrugging. “What the fuck. I could use some orgasms after this fucking week.”

 _Holy shit_ , was all that went through Jaskier’s thoughts, but he managed to say, “Oh, trust me, you’ll get many.”

Yennefer’s grin was crooked and full of promise.

Jaskier’s waggled his eyebrows as he added, “Just promise you won’t remind me of the ratfucker!”

“Please,” Yennefer snorted, her face scrunched up in a scowl. “Like you’ll be able to forget him.”

She was right, and it made meanness twist in Jaskier’s chest. “Well, neither will you!”

Yennefer’s glare was, as ever, truly terrifying.

Jaskier was completely and utterly ready to say goodbye to the promise of orgasms. He could see the rejection flashing in forward-time as Yennefer opened her mouth—

“I could make you, you know.”

Jaskier squinted. “Is—” he started, genuinely puzzled. “Is that a threat?”

She hadn’t delivered it like a threat.

Also, if she meant it… literally? It sounded like a damn fine time. For a while, at least—there was his music to think of, but then, actually, if he never had to play the White Wolf songs again, that sounded just about fantastic, honestly.

“No,” she said, solemn. Her violet eyes gleamed in the torchlight. “It’s an offer. Temporary, of course.”

“…The offer or the forgetting?”

“Both.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “…Why? What do _you_ get from it?”

“None of your business, bard,” she said, before taking another too-big gulp of wine.

“Are you gonna make yourself forget him too? How would you make us remember him again?”

“I’m not gonna make myself forget the bastard. _Obviously_.”

“Then why help me like that? I mean _I_ know I’m good enough in bed to pay you back, but _you_ don’ know that.”

“…Did you just call me a whore?” Yennefer said, dark, shimmering smoke gathering over her fingertip.

“No,” Jaskier said easily. “I called _myself_ a whore.”

“Hmph.” Yennefer put her hand back down and the magic dissipated.

“So.” Never let it be said that Jaskier was persistent. Wasn’t. Wasn’t persistent. Was persistent? “In it. What’s for you?”

With a deep, long, sigh, and an eyeroll: “If I tell you, then can we go upstairs and fuck already?”

Jaskier gave his most rakish grin. “ _Absolutely_.”

With yet another eye roll, because clearly Yennefer wanted to hammer the point home, she said, diction clearer than it had been for a few bottles, “He took away my control. I want it back.”

Fair enough, but… “Okay, but you do know I’m not him? I know, I’m quite handsome and strong as well, easy mistake—”

“You’re close enough.” While Jaskier was trying to decide whether or not to be offended, Yennefer clarified: “Control is control.”

Yes. Obviously. Tau— Tauta— Hmm. Obviously.

“Besides,” Yennefer drawled, pinning Jaskier with her gaze. “It’ll piss him off.”

Jaskier took a moment to turn that over in his head.

Then snorted.

Then burst out laughing.

Gods, Yennefer was a lot funnier than he’d given her credit for, wasn’t she?

“Yes,” he bit out through the laughter, “yes, it definitely would— gods, his lover of _years_ rejects him and then goes to lie with his shit-shoveller. How perfect. Dramatic turn! Worthy of a ballad. The painful, _painful_ irony—”

At some point in that mess of verbal delight, Yennefer had stood up. “You know, the faster we do this, the sooner I get to stop hearing you talk about him.”

Jaskier sprung up. “An excellent point!”

He managed to catch himself on the table before he could fall over.

\--

“Shmancy,” Jaskier said, looking around at the master bedroom of the house of whichever local figure Yennefer had unseated. “All the— the fixtures. They’re nice.”

“Of course they are,” Yennefer said. “I’d have stolen a different house if this one sucked.”

“Ha! So you do admit you stole!”

Jaskier could sense Yenna’s eyeroll, even with her back to him. “Get on the bed already, bard.”

Unlike last time they’d been on a bed together, Jaskier went placidly.

Well. Relatively placidly. “Wait! You’re not gonna”—his hands spiraled around haphazardly—“in my head like this? Right? Don’t drink and disenchant! Or, well, enchant, but I liked the alliteration…”

“You had better,” Yennefer said heavily, “be _extremely_ good at giving head. But no. Sober spell. Obviously.”

“Ah.” That was good, then.

“I don’t drink and sex.”

“Huh,” Jaskier said. That was interesting. Particularly given that she made money off people paying to get high and have orgies. “Would’ve thought it would be a. Y’know. Sorcerer thing.”

But then, she had said she wanted control—

Before Jaskier could finish that thought, the fog drained out of his head like it was sucked down a drain, and he was left sober and staring up at one of the most powerful sorceresses on the Continent, who was also someone he historically had not gotten along with.

Eh. Self-preservation was for other people.

“You might,” Yennefer cut in. “Sorcerers might. But I don’t.”

“Fair enough,” Jaskier said, nodding magnanimously. Technically, he supposed, it wasn’t really any of his business, since barding wasn’t _officially_ just being a nosy bastard. “So then, shall we? I believe you promised me a few hours of obliviousness to my woe, and I promised you _quite_ a number of orgasms.”

Yenna huffed and smirked—but unless Jaskier’s mind was fooling him, the smirk was soft around the edges. And her eyes were lighter than they’d been since he’d plopped himself down across from her in the tavern at the start of the night.

“Lie down, bard,” she said, gesturing at the bed with a grand irony. “This will just take a minute.”

And so he did.

\--

There were a number of ways to induce forgetfulness in a human, some more permanent than others.

Some more painless than others. The bard hadn’t even asked.

It was the height of foolishness. If Yennefer were naïve and new to the world, she might have thought it trust, and been touched.

She wasn’t, and so she didn’t.

But she’d had enough of cruelty and misuse for a while. At least a couple weeks. No sense in damaging the bard’s mind, taking him out of the world, and incurring Geralt’s revenge.

Not that the bard wanted anything to do with the witcher. Perhaps he’d sing songs of her instead.

But there was no point. She knew what she wanted, and peasants singing her falsified praises wouldn’t give it to her.

So. The gentlest method, then. And the one that wouldn’t leave the bard stuck at a mental eighteen.

It was simple, reaching into his head. She stared down at his prone form and into his eyes until the crisp, light blue of his irises unfolded before her and she could see into his mind.

Minds were like caverns—vast and full of thoughts, memories, everything that made a person who they were. Altering them was easy. Especially for a sorceress of Yennefer’s power.

It was easy to reach into the cavern of the bard’s mind, demand it supply her with all of the many, many thoughts and memories and emotions linked to Geralt—and tell his mind to cut off access.

And it did so _beautifully_. Chambers faded out and away in an instant, the light of Jaskier’s thoughts extinguished so thoroughly that the bard would never know that whole corridors were there, the passages hidden by stygian darkness. Every trace of Geralt obscured, every corridor that led to him gone dark.

She left the rest of his thoughts intact, despite the faint pull of temptation, left him his memory of their agreement and most of their conversation—but only the thoughts that didn’t concern Geralt. He’d be able to remember everything he did, everything he said—right up until his mind stumbled across the forbidden topic and found a dead end.

His memories of his life would be the same—intact only so long as they didn’t include Geralt. How many holes would that leave him with? Countless ones, Yennefer was sure, but that wasn’t her problem; he’d asked to forget, and so he would.

The whole process took only seconds—the bard’s mind had no defenses against magical intrusion. And when she finished, Jaskier was staring up at her with the most flummoxed expression she’d seen in her entire life.

 _Including_ the time she’d turned all Sabrina’s books into snails.

“It’s done, bard,” she said, poking at his mind to gauge his reaction.

But there was no pain. Only puzzlement—his mind sliding its thoughts across each other. And a horrifying kind of wonder.

He still said nothing.

“Bard?” she resisted the urge to snap. She knew her skills—he was fine. If he couldn’t handle a little disorientation, then that was his problem.

Maybe she’d leave him like this. Let him learn a lesson in appreciation.

It was a cruel thought, but an amusing one. It wasn’t like she’d actually act on it.

Besides. Although he didn’t know it—and she would absolutely _never_ admit it—the bard was, in a way, perhaps, doing her a favor. As much as himself.

“Fascinating!” The word erupted from Jaskier’s mouth as he shot upright. “What did I have you take away?”

Yennefer snorted. “Defeats the point if I tell you.”

“But I’m _curious_ ,” he said, leaning forward. Annoyingly enthusiastic. “I remember half our conversation, certainly our deal, I remember that I was quite upset about _something_ and wanted to forget. But nothing! No idea!”

“You doubted me?” It was mostly needling him, but Yennefer could feel her eyebrows pulling up regardless.

“Hmm.” For some reason, he actually seemed to take the question seriously. “No, I don’t think I did.”

 _Good_. “Good.”

“Now,” Jaskier said, voice dropping half a register. “I believe I promised to eat you out through at _least_ ten orgasms.”

“You didn’t, technically.” It was a surprisingly lovely thought. So few men _enjoyed_ the act, or cared for their partners’ pleasure. “Until now.”

He was half-hard already. Easy on the trigger—how predictable.

“Well, it was the spirit of my earlier words.”

“Very well, then,” Yennefer said. She let her dress fan out around her as she walked to the head of the bed, before draping herself across a stack of pillows so large and so decadent that she was most of the way to sitting up. Facing Jaskier, she let her spine sink back sink into the pillows as she hiked up her dress, pushed down her smallclothes, and spread her legs. “Go on.”

Jaskier actually looked excited as he shifted to face her—much more so, without that cast of misery to his features. That probably boded well.

But he didn’t, actually, go on. “Truly, Yennefer,” he said, voice like he was savoring every moment, “you’re _quite_ lovely in all places. Why, I, a mere bard—”

“You don’t hurry up, I’ll _make_ you.”

It wasn’t a real threat. Compulsion inside the bedroom was only for those who wanted it, and there was a very large difference between having one’s inhibitions lowered during an orgy, and being made to eat someone out. No doubt the bard—long disdainful of her powers—would be uninterested.

Except—

“Fuck, you can’t just _say_ that!”

He didn’t sound like someone who felt threatened. He sounded _interested_. His pupils had dilated, and the tent in his trousers had grown.

Hmm. If Yennefer was going to move forward, she needed to do so with utmost clarity. “I can say it,” she said slowly. “And I can do it. But only—and I do mean _only_ —if you’re as interested as you sound.”

“Oh, I’m interested, alright.” Jaskier smirked. “Go on, _make me_.”

Well. Yennefer had wanted to feel more in control.

She could be _very_ into that.

But she still had to ask: “How much?”

“How much? Oh—hmm, good question, actually. Courteous.” Surprisingly, it sounded genuine. Yennefer was starting to wonder if he’d forgotten their past animosity, and whether she was obliged to say something about that. “Well, I think—”

“You do remember we used to hate each other?” Being considerate was so obnoxious.

Jaskier’s eyes rolled. “Yes, _witch_ , I fully remember. I may not remember _why_ , because whatever grief I asked you to make me forget seems to have left _quite_ the number of holes in my life, but fear not, I’m not about to fall in love with you, or anything so appalling.”

That shouldn’t have stung. The bard was just an ass. An ass and a fool, and one with no memory.

He knew even less of her than he had before. Just the way she preferred.

“Anyway, a bit of bodily control sounds quite enticing, although of course not _too_ much—no point in my promises if you’re the one doing the work, after all!”

More than acceptable. She nodded, then looked deep into his eyes, wound her will around his mind, and pulled him down onto her.

“Mmmm!” It was a kind of shocked moan, and she could feel the pleasure ricocheting around his head.

Controlling a mind was a different matter than altering one. Fewer caverns, more puppetry.

Then he licked into her folds, and she abruptly cared much less about anything else.

He started off with long, smooth strokes of his tongue—not too slow, not too fast—from her entrance all the way to her mound, then back down again, then back up.

Each time, he dodged her clit, the bastard, and it wasn’t long before she was resisting the urge to buck into his mouth, try to force him to touch her where she needed him—

It took an embarrassingly long moment for her to remember that she had other, _better_ ways.

It was easy—a mere thought, and the bard’s tongue was her plaything. But she let it move as he willed it, left him unaware of the change she’d wrought—

Until he went to dodge her clit again, and she drew his tongue to the center and made him lave over it, slow and lingering.

Jaskier moaned—at the mere loss of control, the bard really did have no survival instincts—but that didn’t matter because her clit tingled with it, the vibrations only adding to her pleasure as she kept him there, forced his attention where she wanted it even as he tried to move away.

Moved his tongue up, then back down to her entrance, over and over, as he slowly fought less and less, and within a few strokes, he gave in. He let her puppet his body, let her pleasure herself through him, and didn’t even try to fight back.

The realization, the _power_ , had her moving faster before she even realized—moving _him_ faster, back to her peak, where she made him stop and _suck_.

The pressure was divine. Not too hard, not too light— _exactly_ how she liked it.

But the bard’s breath was limited. And when she let him up from her clit, she let him up from under her control.

“Like _that_ , bard,” she drawled before he could speak, while he was still catching his breath. Looked down at him, eyebrow raised. “ _Don’t_ disappoint me again.”

“No, ma’am,” Jaskier said—and dived right back in.

He’d increased the pressure, this time, but only slightly, and Yennefer was almost holding her breath to see—

 _Yes_. She let her head fall back and breathed out as his tongue swept over her clit, just the way she’d so clearly _demonstrated_.

And then it was easy to get lost in the strokes of his tongue, the way he sucked on her outer lips, around and around, never in quite the same place. The way he swirled the very point of his tongue over her clit, in circles tighter and tighter—

Her heavy breaths turned into moans, her thighs rose and trembled, pushing up into his face as he swirled tighter, tighter, then _sucked, hard_ , and pleasure swept through her body, made it contort with the force of her orgasm.

The sucking gentled as she rode through the waves of pleasure, wound down as her climax did, her hips pressing up into his mouth one last time before moving back down, back from under the whims of her nerves, finally—

But he was sucking at her clit again in an instant, the pressure increasing hard and fast, coming back after every millisecond of a pause for air, and Yennefer hadn’t even come down before her pleasure was being ramped up and up as her hips convulsed and her mouth sucked so sweetly on her as she came yet again.

And then he sucked her through it again, gentler and gentler, as her body _felt_ the aftershocks of that double climax, as that devastating tension finally _released_ , and Yennefer breathed long and hard as she sank back into the mound of pillows.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she said, with a good deal more feeling than she’d really wanted to show in front of the bard. But why had she cared, anyway—fuck, he’d promised her eight more of those, and he seemed like the rare man who might actually deliver.

“We can do that too,” Jaskier said, and when she looked down at him, he was smirking, his eyes glittering in the warm light of her ever-burning torches. Her wetness was smeared across his lips.

Yennefer meant to say something sharp, but what came out instead was a soft chuckle. “We could,” she agreed, “but I find I’m enjoying this rather a bit too much.”

“Understandable!” Jaskier said, visibly preening. “After all, it’s rare you come across someone with skills such as mi—”

His words were cut off by his startlement, and then by her flesh.

“Come now, bard,” she drawled. “Surely you know what that tongue is _actually_ good for?”

There was an indignant _humph_ , barely distinguishable as he licked into her crease.

Yennefer laughed. It felt _good_ to be so fully in charge.

There were more incoherent mumbles into her core, and Yennefer let herself buck up into the vibrations of them, the fluttering of his flips around her labia.

“If I let you up,” Yennefer asked archly, “will you stop backtalking, hmm? Know your _place_?”

Her couldn’t answer, of course, with his mouth so occupied—and she seized control of his head too, kept him from nodding, just because she could.

There was inaudible grumbling as Yennefer bucked again, chuckling, forcing her voice to stay smooth as she spoke between licks and breaths, “You know, I can still feel your mind like this. Obviously, since I’m controlling it.” She smirked. “I can feel how much this turns you on. How me telling you that you’re _helpless_ turns you on.”

Jaskier moaned as his arousal flared higher.

“Mmm, yes, you do like that, don’t you? Little bard, little performer, little _puppet_. Mind already emptied out, and mine to do with as I please.”

There was a scuffle in his mind—the urge to fight against the desire to submit.

“Just give in, bard,” she said, drawing a hand through the locks of his hair. “Let me show you how weak you are. How much I have made you my creature.”

He moaned again, but his pace didn’t change—didn’t slow, didn’t speed up, just stayed exactly where she’d set it.

And as he kept moving—as she kept him moving—at that steady pace, bit by bit, his urge to fight faded away, and he relaxed into her control.

“Good,” Yennefer purred. “ _Much_ better—see how nice things can be when you know your place?”

Jaskier’s affirmative hum vibrated across her clit and Yennefer’s toes curled.

“Mmm,” she hummed as she forced him to zero in on her clit, “ _More_.”

And his body obeyed, the bard’s fingers coming up in an instant to tease at her entrance, playing with the rim of her hole, two of them scissoring around, sliding across her flesh, as she used him to find—

Yennefer saw sparks, made those fingers circle in again and again on that perfect spot, and in seconds, she was coming.

Her moans grew louder as he kept circling, as she made him keep circling across her clit and that spot, swirling her own liquid into her skin, pressing harder, harder, harder—

She came again.

 _Fuck_ , she thought as she released her control. Human sex toys—why had she never used them before? She’d have to make a habit of this, if the firm, involuntary grin on her face was any indication.

Because she felt so _wonderful_ —still so wonderful, the intensity had abated but the pleasure was still present, and it was with a faint surprise that she came down enough to realize that Jaskier was still stroking her walls, all on his own. Avoiding that spot, not plowing her straight into another orgasm, and his tongue was gentler on her clit, making more diversions to suck at where her mouth gave way to darker, wetter skin.

But it wasn’t long before he worked her to her peak again, and again after that, clever tongue and calloused fingers learning her body, figuring out what made her writhe and moan and, once, almost kick him in the head. Those two orgasms came quickly and went slowly, left Yennefer breathless and panting.

He really was quite talented; his tongue flicked over her labia at the perfect pace as her hips moved up and down in slow waves.

“Good— _ah_ —to know your reputation— isn’t as overblown as I’d thought.”

Jaskier didn’t reply, just hummed as he skimmed back up her folds and sank two fingers into her.

“ _Oh_ ,” Yennefer gasped, clenching down, feeling the way his fingers moved despite it.

And then he was fucking them in and out of her, just a _hint_ too slowly, and before she knew it, she was grinding up onto his fingers, into his face, chasing _more_ —

He put in a third finger seconds before she had been about to command it, sped up, and hooked his fingers so that he hit that perfect spot on every godsdamned stroke.

“ _Ah-ah—_ ” Yennefer’s moans turned rhythmic as he fucked her, sunk a hand into his hair and pushed his face down further, the slick heat on her folds so _good_ with the pressure in her cunt, and then he licked up again, brushing over her clit, and then sucked so hard Yennefer’s soul might have come out through her clit, and her vision whited out and pure pleasure wracked her body as she came and came and came.

“Oh,” she murmured as she came down, Jaskier’s lips still on hers, his fingers still moving inside of her. “Gods—”

“Oh, a god, am I?” Jaskier’s eyes were bright as she looked down at him. His chuckle was light, unburdened—and why wouldn’t it be, after what she’d made him forget?

“You wish,” she said, half a snarl, and shoved his head back down with her hand and her mind. Plunged his tongue into her cunt, sinking into the pleasure of the touch as much as the _silence_.

“ _I don’t have to wish_ ,” the thought came projected—not magically, just via the mental equivalent of speaking right into her ear. Yennefer’s eyebrows creased, a wrinkle in the satin-smooth fabric of her pleasure. “ _Not when such a lovely sorceress is saying it for me_.”

Well. Someone else had been teaching the bard new tricks.

“If you’re so powerful,” she mused, voice forced smooth even as she made the bard’s tongue search out that spot inside, “then how come you’re so completely at my mercy?”

“ _Am I? Because honestly, it’s like you’re not even trying_.”

Rolling her eyes, Yennefer drew him away from her core and then released her control. “If you want something, you need to _ask_ for it.”

“Whatever could I possibly want?” Jaskier’s smirk belied his guileless tone.

“You tell me, bard.”

“Oh, you know,” Jaskier said, bringing a slick-soaked finger up to twirl through his bangs. “Just thought we might be able to spice things up.”

Yennefer leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “Spice things up?”

“Oh, you know,” Jaskier drawled, poised just inches above her cunt. “A little more mockery, maybe a little more mind tampering… making something of the holes you cut into my memory.” His voice slowly descended further and further into a smolder. “Rub in my face just how much I’m at your mercy.”

Cocking her head, Yennefer considered. “Literally?”

Jaskier snorted. “Well you’ve already done that part.”

Against her will, Yennefer felt herself huffing a small laugh. “I suppose I have.” And, meeting Jaskier’s grin, “What would you want? For me to mock you for what I did to you? For your failure to fend me off, the fact that you didn’t even try?”

Jaskier’s cock twitched at her words. “ _Yes_. Yes, all of that, and the fact that I don’t even know what you made me forget, the fact that you could make me forget anything—”

“All the things you don’t know about your own life?”

Jaskier waggled his eyebrows, the dork of a man. “I think you get the idea.”

“Yes,” Yennefer said, voice rich and low. “I think I do.”

Then, slowly, she slipped her grasp around Jaskier’s mind again, froze his body and held him still while she slipped her fingers into her hair. “Well then, I think you know what you’re supposed to do”—she pushed him back down onto her with her hand and her mind—“unless, of course, you’ve forgotten that too.”

“Definitely not,” Jaskier said, before resuming his attentions with a quick, light swipe across the very tip of her clit.

“Well that’s good to know,” Yennefer drawled, “given how very much you’ve forgotten. Not that you know the extent of it, of course. How can you see what’s not there?”

“Can’t,” Jaskier gasped between licks.

“Of course not,” Yennefer agreed. “I made it so you couldn’t. Watched as memory after memory went dark.” Kept her hand pinned in his hair—another sign of her dominance. “So how could you know that the holes in your memory cover over half your life?”

Jaskier’s head shot up. “ _Really_?” he asked, pupils blown.

And in his mind, where Yennefer was keeping an eye out? No fear. Just a sharp spike of astonishment and lust.

Some awe, too. Awe of _her_.

“Really,” she said, smirking down at him. “Whole seasons of your life—all erased. All the way back to when you were eighteen.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, bringing his fingers up to do the job his mouth had abandoned. Both hands, this time, one dancing around her clit and the other playing with her entrance.

“You want me to rub in how much you’ve forgotten? How entirely you’re under my spell? Well then, _Jaskier_ , tell me: Do you remember how we met?”

Jaskier’s fingers stuttered, but to his credit they didn’t stop. “We— _shit_.”

He ground too hard on her clit, and Yennefer was quick to snap that hand to her hip instead.

“Sorry,” Jaskier said, caressing her jut of her hip bone and slipping back to squeeze the curve of her ass. “Just— _fuck_. I can’t remember.”

“Really,” she asked, as his fingers plunged deeper into her cunt. “Nothing?”

“Just…” He stroked that spot inside, and pleasure pooled deeper in Yennefer’s core. “Just flashes. A bed,” a gasp, “a white dress. A—”

His head shot up. “Did you threaten to cut my dick off?”

Yennefer laughed. “I don’t know, did I?”

“I—” Jaskier’s mouth contorted rapidly. “Fuck, I don’t _know_.”

Yennefer seized control of his fingers again, driving them into her again, deeper, with each word: “And don’t you _love that_.”

“Fuck, I _really_ do,” Jaskier laughed self-deprecatingly. “Really, _really_ do.”

Yennefer grinned, sharp and toothy. “I wonder, bard, how much of your _experience_ I’ve taken away.”

He blinked. “Half my life, you— _Ohh_.” Another chuckle, and he sped up, fingers driving into her faster and faster. “Well I hope it wasn’t too much.” His other hand came back down and started working its way through her folds. “I’d hate to think you’re suffering for the lack.”

Yennefer tipped her head back into the plush, golden pillows. “Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m suffering.”

“Good!” Jaskier’s index finger traced up and down the hood of her clit, up and down.

“Better keep it that way,” she said, nudging his finger just that little bit lower— _Ohhhhh_.

“Besides,” he said, about though Yennefer’s eyes had closed during that sudden sparking of pleasure, she could hear the smirk in his voice. “I’m confident that my sexual skills are ones that can _never_ be taken away.”

“No?” Yennefer asked, her eyes fluttering open so she could stare into his. “Not even if I made you forget _every_ sexual experience you’ve ever had?”

Jaskier grunted and rutted down into the mattress, desperate for little friction he could get through those trousers.

“I could make you, you know. Fuck, I could make you forget everything, build a whole new life out of the husk of what you were, and you would never know.”

His fingers moved faster on her clit, eyes fluttering open and shut as his own thrusts deepened.

“You wouldn’t fight me either.” Her words grew breathy; it was growing too hard to hold back her gasps. “Not any more than you fought me this time. You _couldn’t_ , if you tried, would let it happen to you the same way that you let _this_ happen to you, your mind so open it would’ve been begging me, even if your words hadn’t.”

She could feel the pleasure in his mind, feel the way his fingers sped up as he rubbed circles over her clit, zeroed in one that spot once again—

Every word she said, every taunt she gave, his speed and pressure grew, driving her to higher and higher peaks of pleasure—

And then she was coming, hands fisted in the pillows splayed around her. Moaning openly as her thighs trembled around the bard’s face, as she could feel her pulse and her pleasure in every bit of her cunt, every bit of _her_.

And this time, Jaskier didn’t even let her start to come down—just drove her straight into the next one as next waves of pleasure hit her, even _stronger_ , impossibly stronger, as her hips bucked and her toes curled and her fingers writhed, grasping out for any kind of contact, anything to grab and let her brace herself against the sheer, unrelenting ecstasy.

She moaned louder, the only outlet she could find, nothing gripped tight in her fingers, the sounds coming out of her mouth stuttering and unreal and divine.

It was so _much_ —the pleasure wracking her every part, the heat of it and the clenching of muscles and the sweet, sweet beginnings of release—

A release that never came, because Jaskier’s fingers were still working, still going harder and harder, rubbing in deep to that sweet spot inside, and without even a hint of a break, Yennefer was coming again.

 _Fuuuuuuck_.

She couldn’t do another one—she almost wanted to, _gods_ , eleven orgasms in one night, and all so quick? _Gods_. With a thought, she pulled Jaskier up off her—he’d already slowed, but Yennefer was hovering on the edge of too-much, of almost-pain, and didn’t want to tip over.

But _gods_.

“ _Melitele’s almighty fucking tits_ ,” she breathed. Normally she wouldn’t have said such a thing aloud, she knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, but what was the point of restraint when she felt so loose and so _good_ , heavy on the bed, skin caressed by the soft golden sheets, rubbed by the trimmed pillowcases?

Jaskier was chuckling between her legs, arousal still bright in his mind but subsumed by the focus on her pleasure, even as his hips rutted into the bedspread in small, quick gestures. “Now _that_ , my dear is quite the compliment.”

Yennefer was still panting. “Don’t call me _my dear_.”

“Duly noted, Yenna!”

Despite herself, Yennefer laughed. “Call me that when I’m sober and I can’t guarantee the safety of your balls.”

“You’re sober now—should I start running? Clenching my legs, perhaps?”

Yennefer waved a heavy, floppy hand. “Well-fucked—mmm—counts as an altered state of mind.”

Jaskier barked out a laugh. “That it does! Speaking of which…?”

Yennefer rolled her head to look at him sideways. “Yes?”

“ _Speaking of which_?” Jaskier prompted, hand waving toward his own crotch where it still shifted against the bed. “What, do you want me to beg?”

“Mmm, might be nice.” Yennefer’s violet eyes twinkled.

Jaskier’s answering look was droll. “Oh please, Yenna, I doth beg of you,” he said, tone lofty, arms swinging out in grand gesticulations, “let thine humble bard _come his brains out, please_.”

Yennefer giggled—gods, she hadn’t laughed this much in— Well. In quite a bit. And it was a testament to the power of orgasms that even that thought couldn’t ruin her mood.

“Well, if you insist,” she said, forcing down her laughter. “You have two options, I think: One, I can jerk you off. Pleasant, but… mundane. Two… you get to see just how _thoroughly_ your body will follow my orders.”

“ _Yesss_ ,” Jaskier hissed, “the second one, definitely the second one.”

“I should warn you, it will be over fast…”

“Don’t care— It’d be over fast anyway—”

“Well, then.” Yennefer smirked. Let her voice drop half an octave. “Jaskier. _Come_.”

And he did, gasping, hips thrusting wildly into the sheets as pleasure pulsed through his mind, overcame it, filled it utterly in jolts and waves.

It was, indeed, over quickly. “Fuck,” Jaskier breathed, flopping onto his stomach, head pillowed against the inside of her leg. “ _Fuck_.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Yennefer said, amused, before running her fingers through his hair. “Mmm, get up here, I can’t pull up the blankets with you like this.”

“But _moooving_ ,” Jaskier protested, even as he dragged himself upright and flopped himself down next to her. He’d made it… closer to the pillows, at least.

But luckily, Yennefer was a sorceress. A wave of her hand, and the blanket pulled itself out from under them—to Jaskier’s brief but extreme disorientation, judging by the baffled cursing—and draped itself over their forms.

Their fully clothed forms. Hmm.

But again: magic. And Yennefer had an excellent sense of taste—she was sure she’d put Jaskier in sleep clothes he’d find satisfactory.

“’M I spending the night, then?” Jaskier asked.

“If you want.” It wasn’t that she cared. It was just that he had done her a favor. Eleven favors, on top of giving her control—letting her regain her sense of it.

“Mmm, sounds lovely. Imagine not moving! Delightful.” Another hum as he dragged himself up toward the mound of pillows—Yennefer took the opportunity to shove most of them on the ground so they could have ones actually suitable to sleep on. “I love the silk, by the way,” he continued, visibly fondling his new pajamas under the sheets. “ _Quite_ luxurious.”

“You’re welcome, bard.”

Jaskier huffed a laugh. “ _Thanks_ , _Yenna_.”

It was a simple matter to reach out and thwap him lightly on the head.

“I might thank you,” Yennefer murmured after a long moment that featured, unexpectedly, no retaliation. “That felt… good.”

“I’m glad,” Jaskier said, turning just his head to face her, his lips bent into a smile. “I know I can’t remember what we were forgetting, tonight, but I hope it helped.”

“Mmm.” Yennefer turned on her side so she lay facing him. “You know, I think it did.”

His smile widened. “Good. I’m glad.”

“What about you?” Yennefer murmured, turning on her side to stroke her hand across Jaskier’s temple. “Do you want it back?”

“Mmmm,” Jaskier’s smile faded, just a bit. Still, something in Yennefer thought it was too much. “No. No, let me be happy for one more night.”

“Alright,” she agreed. “Then I’ll see you in the morning.”

And she let her eyes drift closed.

“Night, Yenna,” Jaskier said, voice loose and content.

A happy night for a happy night. There were far worse trades.

**Author's Note:**

> This is yenskier, but if you love Yennefer as much as I do, consider joining the Witcher femslash discord server, where we yell about how great all of the witcher ladies are (and how they should kiss). Very open to trans/nonbinary identities (in headcanons and in our members). https://discord.gg/jrn8j3WVtt


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